


The Contract

by RisalSoran



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, Post-Episode: s04e25 Body Parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:08:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RisalSoran/pseuds/RisalSoran
Summary: Garak has been hired by Quark to perform some "horticultural services" - but does Quark really want to be "weeded"?Garak is sure he doesn't, but Quark has not spoken to him about the contract since before he broke his contract with the Ferengi liquidator for the sale of his remains.Did Quark forget about the contract? Or did he not believe Garak would carry it out?Garak does not like either possibility. He decides to remind Quark of the contract.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	The Contract

**Author's Note:**

> This follows the events of the Season 4 episode "Body Parts."

Quark's Bar was open for business.

That was odd.

When Garak walked past the night before, after closing his shop, the bar was almost completely empty. The counter and the shelf unit behind it were still there. So was the mural. But almost everything else was gone. Tables, chairs, dabo tables, customers … gone. Only Quark was still there, sitting disconsolately on the floor, beside his brother Rom, who seemed to be sympathetically listening to whatever Quark was saying.

The Ferengi Commerce Authority was well known for its thoroughness and attention to detail. Obviously, Liquidator Brunt was no exception. Less than twenty-six hours had passed since Brunt revoked Quark's business license and seized his assets. The bar should be an empty suite of rooms, but it wasn't. It was less crowded than usual, but it was open.

It was furnished with oddly mismatched tables and chairs. The usual clash of scents inevitable in a food establishment that served food and drink from dozens of different cultures was muted and quite tolerable, as was the ambient decibel level, but the bar was clearly doing business.

Garak stepped inside. He sat at a table near and slightly behind the illuminated mural, took out a padd to avoid the appearance of idleness, and returned his attention to the lower level of the bar.

It did not take long to acquire his target amongst the small crowd of seventeen individuals. Most were Bajoran, but Morn was there as well, enthusiastically regaling Quark and three Humans in Starfleet security uniforms with what appeared to be a rather exciting tale while they enjoyed a late breakfast, or perhaps an early lunch. Broik walked past, carrying a heavily loaded tray of food to a group of Bajoran engineers and maintenance workers engaged in friendly conversation on the other side of the bar.

Now that was interesting. Broik was _Ferengi._ Without a valid business license, it was illegal under Ferengi law for Quark to employ Ferengi workers, and for other Ferengi to do business with him. Apparently Broik was willing to disregard Ferengi law. Or, perhaps, Quark's was operating as a Bajoran-Federation establishment under their law now.

He would check the station records at a later time.

In the meantime, he had work to do.

He returned his attention to his target.

Quark stood beside the Starfleet officers' table, listening to Morn's tale, but he seemed distracted. For some reason, he kept peering into the shadows along the periphery of the room as if he expected to find some fascinating surprise awaiting him there.

As Garak watched, Quark made his excuses and moved on to check on his other customers and take any new orders.

Garak allowed himself a genuine smile.

Quark had always been courteous to him, in his own acquisitively gregarious way, but Garak had always assumed his courteous demeanor was a mask. To Quark, he was no more than a potential source of latinum and, occasionally, a new garment.

Apparently, his assumption was not entirely accurate.

Quark knew about his sometime occupation.

That was not a complete surprise. Quark was quite a resourceful man.

What was a surprise: Quark trusted him. With his life, and with his death.

That trust was somewhat misplaced.

Garak had entered into a contract to provide “horticultural services” for Quark in exchange for a rather substantial sum of latinum, but he did not intend to honor all of its provisions. He would acquire and maintain suitable ornamental plants for Quark's bar – the ostensible purpose of the contract. Any weeds that appeared in their pots, he would diligently remove. However, he would not honor the actual purpose: the “weeding” of Quark himself.

Garak's shop was not particularly profitable by Ferengi standards, but it met his financial needs. He did not need Quark's latinum. Certainly he did not need it enough to risk his precarious position on Deep Space Nine.

The station was a dreadful place to live. It was too cold, too bright, and the majority of its residents barely tolerated him.

It was also the safest place he could live. It was a Bajoran station run by Bajorans and by the Federation's military branch, its Star fleet. True, it was not completely safe. Tain sent an assassin after him on the station, once, but he received warning soon enough to foil the attempt. His shop was the sole casualty, and he had been able to rebuild it. It took some time, but the shop was open again for business in seventeen days. Of course, it took longer than that to rebuild his inventory. But, under the circumstances, he was satisfied with the results.

No one else had tried.

He was quite certain there were still people, primarily on Cardassia Prime, who would be delighted to have him eliminated. They would know if he left the station.

If he eliminated Quark – one of the most popular and respected businessmen on Deep Space Nine – he would no longer be welcome on Deep Space Nine. He would be exiled from his refuge, if not extradited to Cardassia for trial and execution. Or, worse, confined to a prison cell.

The existence and legitimacy of the contract, entered into by Quark himself, would have no effect. Commander Sisko would not care about the contract. Neither would Constable Odo. And neither would Doctor Bashir. He was not involved with station security, but he was one of the few people who genuinely seemed to enjoy Garak's company.

It would be unfortunate if that were to change.

Ostensibly accepting the assignment while actually taking on an entirely different challenge – that of convincing Quark to renege on the contract – was a completely different matter than actually eliminating him. It was turning out to be immensely gratifying.

Garak had not enjoyed his work so much since … well, he could not remember when he had enjoyed his work so much, although it was certainly satisfying. He did enjoy traveling to Bajor with Julian to find out the circumstances surrounding the adoption of Rugal Pa'Dar, the young Cardassian boy with the Bajoran guardian. Determining that the boy had been a pawn in a ploy by Dukat to obtain political ammunition against one of his political rivals, Rugal's father Kotan Pa'Dar, was, as Julian might say, “icing on the cake”. It hardly seemed like work.

This, on the other hand, was definitely work, even if it wasn't exactly the task Quark hired him to perform.

And, it was time to take the next step.

Quark broke his contract with the FCA liquidator, Brunt, almost twenty-seven hours ago, but he had not mentioned the outstanding contract since then. He seemed nervous, even if he hadn't so much as looked up at the second level, but he did not seem to be taking the contract seriously.

Clearly the Ferengi did not want to die. That was obvious from his reactions in the holosuite when Garak demonstrated different methods of assassination to him. The Ferengi had been visibly shocked by every option, except poison, which he had not demonstrated, as Quark was quite certain that would not work as he would eat nothing he knew to be poisoned.

Yet he no longer seemed to consider Garak a threat.

Garak wasn't sure if Quark forgot about the outstanding contract or simply didn't believe Garak would complete his task.

Both possibilities were rather offensive.

Quark needed a reminder.

Garak moved out of the shadows, took a seat at an excessively brightly lit table overlooking the bar, and waited, watching surreptitiously while pretending to read something on his padd.

He did not have long to wait, but it wasn't Quark who noticed him.

It was Odo.

The Constable stepped into the bar, making his rounds, scanning every level.

Garak put on a benign expression of mild curiosity, but Odo was not fooled.

The Constable tilted his head and looked at him suspiciously. He said something to Morn and the security officers, probably a simple greeting, to judge from the Lurian's courteous nod and the security officers' friendly smiles and lack of drawn phasers. Odo inclined his head politely, turned, and made his way up the stairs.

That got Quark's attention. He finally looked up at the second level, and promptly noticed Garak.

Garak put on his most predatory smile and sharpest gaze.

Quark flinched and moved away like a skittish keya from a swad of hungry honge.

Now, that was better.

Garak dropped the smile and softened his gaze as Odo approached his table.

“Good day, Constable,” he said.

Odo offered a perfunctory nod and a suspicious look. “Enjoying the view today, Garak?” he asked.

“No, not at all,” Garak replied. “Do you see that group of Starfleet security officers?”

Odo followed his gaze and nodded. “Yes,” he replied succinctly.

“Well, whoever designed their uniforms clearly had no concept of practicality! A security uniform should be genuinely identifiable as a security uniform ... and not merely by a completely arbitrary color code. A security uniform should symbolize the protective role a security officer fills.”

“I see. You're saying a Starfleet security uniform should look like a Cardassian military uniform.”

“That would be better. Of course, it should not look exactly the same. And it need not resemble a Cardassian uniform. Klingons and Romulans wear quite suitable uniforms, as well.”

“Anything else?” Odo asked. His voice was an exemplary model of sarcasm.

“Why, yes! A security officer's uniform should fit loosely to allow for the concealment of weapons. Those … _atrocities_ … barely allow for concealment of a simple pocket knife!”

Odo looked at him and smiled. “A useful design indeed,” he said.

Garak sighed. “Yes, well, from your perspective, perhaps. Now, good day, Constable.” He stood and offered a respectful bow. “I must return to my work. This station is clearly in need of my services.”

* * *

The next morning, Garak rose early and entered his shop two and a half hours before the usual time. He kept the “closed” sign illuminated, and locked the door behind him.

The shop was pleasantly lit by the ambient lighting of the corridor outside, but such illumination would not catch Quark's attention, even if he were to come by the shop to discuss their outstanding business.

Garak did not activate the yellow-white shop lights he used during business hours for the comfort of his human and Bajoran customers. Instead, he brought the infrared heat lamp he kept in the back to his work table and activated it.

That was certain to draw Quark's attention, if he did come to Garak's shop. The Ferengi was quite observant. He would know Garak usually kept his shop lit in such a way as to suit Human and Bajoran preferences. Surely he would notice the change.

Garak activated his padd and got to work, enjoying the warmth and the dim infrared light.  
* * *  
A furtive movement near the entrance to his shop caught Garak's attention.

He looked up from his padd.

Quark stepped out from the shadows and peer through the shop window. For some reason, he was wearing Rom's clothing: a brown striped shirt, brown-and-green tunic, and swamp-green pants. Odd. He had been wearing his own clothing in the bar.

“Garak, I see you! You can't surprise me!” Quark said, loudly enough for Garak to hear and understand him through the transparent aluminum.

Garak unlocked the door and gestured for him to come inside.

Quark complied, but Garak noticed he kept his distance and did not take his eyes off him.

“How may I be of service?” Garak asked.

“I'm calling off the contract,” Quark said nervously. “I don't need you to kill me.”

Garak suppressed his smile and put on an expression of disbelief. “My dear Quark, surely you do not need me to remind you of the 17th Rule of Acquisition!”

“Of course not,” Quark scoffed. “But maybe I need to remind you of the final phrase of that rule.”

  
“Not at all. The precise phrasing is “but only between Ferengi.”

“Exactly! It's the most important part of the 17th Rule!” Quark exclaimed. “The entire Rule says, 'a contract is a contract is a contract, but only between Ferengi!'”

“Are you saying a Cardassian citizen cannot honor the spirit of the Rules of Acquisition?”

Quark stared at him.

Garak waited. He watched Quark think it through, obviously trying to remember any previous interaction that might, to use the Human phrase, shed light on Garak's actual opinion of the Rules.

Quark sighed. “I … suppose you have a point,” he acknowledged.

Garak inclined his head.

“What about a new contract, Garak? A 'Termination of Contract' contract? It could be quite lucrative.”

Garak feigned shock. “Are you telling me you, Quark, son of Keldar, no longer honor the 17th Rule of Acquisition?”

“Of course I do! But this contract is no longer valid!”

“Really?” Garak took his padd from its pocket and accessed the contract. He read it with exaggerated slowness, taking the time to unnecessarily translate from Ferengi to Kardasi. Finished, he looked up. “I see no reference to any contingencies that would render this contract invalid.”

“All right, all right, but it should be invalid! Garak, the original contract no longer applies!”

“I beg your pardon?” Garak asked, looking pointedly at the padd that contained the original contract between himself and Quark.

“Not _that_ contract! The contract I entered into with Liquidator Brunt, to sell my desiccated remains to him for 500 bars of latinum!”

Garak kept his customer service mask firmly in place. It would not do to allow Quark to see his distaste at the idea of selling one's remains for display. “Oh? And why does that contract no longer apply?”

“I broke it,” Quark admitted.

“Ah. So. You are telling me that, although a contract is a true contract only between Ferengi, it is permissible for Ferengi to break such a contract? That … privilege is forbidden to a non-Ferengi?”

“Exactly!” Quark said. “There are consequences for the breaking of a contract between Ferengi. You know that. My assets have been taken away, Garak. I have nothing! What could possibly happen if I break our contract?”

“A deplorable loss of income,” Garak replied promptly.

“A … what?”

Garak tipped his head back and stared, unblinking.

Quark looked confused for a moment, but he figured it out quickly. “Oh! No, Garak. I'm … I wouldn't break that part of the contract! You can keep your latinum. I wouldn't ask you to violate the first Rule of Acquisition.”

“And yet you expect me to lose my standing as a respectable and dependable businessman?” Garak asked, electing to not respond to the obvious inconsistency. If the contract was not valid, he would not keep the latinum. “How, may I ask, would that benefit me?”

“Come on, Garak. Of course it'll benefit you! I mean, don't you think Odo and Sisko would have something to say to you if I wound up dead? If I don't wind up dead, you don't wind up in a holding cell.”

“Well, there is that,” Garak allowed. “However, I am a man of my word.”

Quark burst into laughter.

Garak put on a deeply offended air.

Quark stopped laughing. “Garak, everyone knows you have a … unique interpretation of truth.”

“Sometimes it behooves one to obfuscate,” Garak acknowledged. “And yes, I do enjoy fabricating an interesting tale now and then. But you will find –”

“Fabrication! That's it!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You and I entered into a contract for you to provide me with a service.”

“That's right.”

“Well, even on Ferenginar, a new contract can be fabricated by simply modifying an existing contract, if all interested parties agree. 'Never fear to modify a contract if the modified contract brings more profit.'”

Garak tilted his head. “I am not familiar with that rule,” he admitted.

Quark grinned. “It's the Unwritten Rule. When no appropriate rule applies, make one up.”

“Ah. Yes. In that case, I suppose, modification would be acceptable even under Ferengi law.”

“Of course! Isn't that the way it is on Cardassia?”

“How would I know the way it is on Cardassia?” Garak asked, feigning sarcasm to hide the unfortunate veracity of his words. His knowledge of the nuances of Cardassian law under the new government was quite limited.

Quark rolled his eyes. “Very funny, Garak. It's your _career_ that's supposed to be a big secret, not your homeworld. Everyone knows you're from Cardassia Prime.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Your Kardasi accent is straight from the Coranum Sector of Cardassia City.”

“You're right,” Garak said, switching to the informal directness and clipped vowels of the service class dialect he'd spoken with Mila and Tolan. He didn't tell Quark that the primary dialect spoken in the Coranum Sector was the same Standard Kardasi taught in every school and institute on Cardassia Prime. Every educated Cardassian could speak it. “I lived in the Coranum Sector.”

Quark chuckled. “You've made your point, Garak. I should have guessed you speak more than one dialect of Kardasi.”

Garak smiled. “Even the best Universal Translator cannot accurately convey all the nuances of any dialect,” he said, switching back to Standard Kardasi.

“So you're saying you don't use a Universal Translator?” Quark stared at him as if he had suddenly metamorphosed into a rather large regnar.

“This is a busy station. I cannot possibly speak all of its languages, let alone all of its dialects.”

“I suppose that's true,” Quark said. “So? Do you use a Universal Translator?”

Quark was nothing if not persistent.

“Yes. I don't use it with familiar languages.”

“Of course not. Now, Garak, let's get back to business,” Quark said.

“Certainly! I am always happy to be of service,” Garak said in his most sarcastic tone, masking the disconcerting element of truth to his statement.

“Thank you, Garak,” Quark said sincerely. “Now. A successful provider of goods and services must adapt to his customers' changing needs.”

“Obviously! It would not be suitable to provide a costume or a suit using the last month's measurements.”

“Exactly! Garak, that's exactly the problem I've got. My needs have changed. I don't have Dorak Syndrome. I'm not dying. I broke the contract with Brunt, so I am no longer obligated to provide him with my neatly packaged desiccated remains. And that means I don't need to die!”

Garak allowed a bit of his inquisitor's sharp intensity to color his smile. It would not do to allow Quark to see his satisfaction with the turn of events.

Quark did not back down. “I want to modify the contract,” he said.

“I see. What, may I ask, is this modification you propose?”

“I'm sure you are aware of my … change in circumstances.”

“I am,” Garak said. He did not mention that he had learned the details during a review of the previous day's station logs, or that he still did not know how Quark was able to acquire the necessary supplies and equipment to reopen the bar so soon.

Quark sighed. “I'm not a Ferengi businessman anymore. I'm just a businessman. And I'm only in business because of … _charity.”_ He almost spat the word.

“Charity,” Garak repeated.

“I know! It's horrible! But what could I do? I can't run a bar with nothing. I needed the furniture and equipment and supplies! Everybody pretended it wasn't … that. They all had some excuse. Bashir's Alvanian brandy was undrinkable, Dax's glasses really ugly, Sisko really needed some place to store all the furniture. But nobody ever had undrinkable ale or ugly glasses or storage issues before.”

Is that true? Did Julian and the others really give Quark everything he needed to reopen his business? No one mentioned it to him. No one asked him to help.

No one gave him a thing or raised a finger to help when his shop was destroyed a year ago. Not even Julian.

Quark gave him an odd, calculating look, and Garak realized belatedly that he had allowed his mask to slip and his bitterness to show.

He put on a sympathetic expression. “It must be quite a challenge for you, a Ferengi businessman banned from transacting any business with other Ferengi,” he said, deflecting Quark's attention.

“I have no idea,” Quark said. “I rarely have Ferengi customers, and Rom isn't much of a Ferengi. He's staying.”

“A loyal brother,” Garak said.

“Loyal, ” Quark scoffed. “There's no profit in loyalty!”

“On the contrary! Rom's service over the years has provided you with substantial profit!”

“For me, Garak. There's no profit for Rom!”

“How unfortunate,” Garak said sincerely.

“It's not my fault my brother hasn't got the lobes for business,” Quark said. He looked sharply at Garak. “I do, Garak. And I would like to keep my lobes, and my other parts, intact. So. Will you agree to enter into a modified contract?”

“How could I, when you have not informed me of your proposed modifications?

Quark dropped his eyes and gestured towards himself. “Did you notice what I'm wearing?”

“How could I miss it? Apparently you have decided to model your sense of fashion on that of your brother.”

“No! Of course not! It's just …” Quark hesitated, obviously not wishing to say aloud whatever it was he intended to say. “Brunt seized all of my assets. He took away everything I owned! These garments are Rom's. He … gave them to me.”

“How very kind.”

“Kind?!” Quark exclaimed, horrified. “He's a Ferengi! He's not supposed to be kind! He's not supposed to give away his belongings for free! Not even to his brother!”

“I suppose that does not seem to be a particularly Ferengi action to take,” Garak acknowledged. He did not mention that for Rom to do something that did not seem Ferengi was not unusual.

“I need something to wear that's more suitable than Rom's castoffs,” Quark said.

“Of course! A proprietor of a business establishment must dress the part,” Garak said, gesturing at his own brightly colored garments.

Quark smiled. “Exactly. Now, what I propose is this: You and I delete the provision about weeding and replace it with a provision saying that you will provide me with suitable clothing.”

“That is not a horticultural service,” Garak pointed out.

“So, change horticultural to sartorial.”

“I will not! I have already placed orders for the plants for your establishment, and suitable pots in which to grow each one. Bajoran _indika_ plants, Terran _Ficus, Sansevieria,_ and _Dracaena,_ the Cardassian _mekla_ –”

“Garak!” Quark snapped.

“The _mekla_ is quite adaptable, I assure you! All these plants will grow, and thrive, in the ambient light and temperature conditions of your establishment.”

“I appreciate that, Garak. But what I care about is the other provision! The one where you kill me!”

“I see,” Garak said, feigning disappointment. He was looking forward to working with plants again, even on such a small scale, and in pots, but it didn't matter to him if Quark shared his enthusiasm.

“We'll keep the part with the plants. My customers may enjoy them. I suppose you're not the only person on this station who misses the plant life of their homeworld and doesn't have the time to visit Keiko's Arboretum.”

Garak inclined his head. “I am gratified,” he said.

“I want to delete the provision where you kill me and add one where you provide me with new clothing. We can keep the reference to horticultural services and add sartorial services.”

Garak pretended to consider Quark's quite reasonable suggestion. “The work is quite different, you know,” he said. “Tailoring even one tunic, shirt, and pair of trousers is quite time-consuming. Removing a single erroneously placed plant, on the other hand, can be done in an afternoon. Less, if one does not need to keep the identity of the gardener undetectable.”

“Garak, I know you've still got the designs from everything I ever ordered from you. I am familiar with Cardassian record-keeping.”

“Yes. I'm sure you are.”

“I just need a few replacements. A couple pairs of trousers, some shirts, a tunic or two. I can replicate everything else.”

“Replacements.”

“Yes. Which won't take too long. I'm not asking you to design anything new. Just make another one of my old clothes. I don't care what fabric you use. Whatever you've got. You can have one pair of pants and a shirt ready by tomorrow, and a tunic by the end of the week. Anything else can be whenever you have the time.”

“How kind of you to arrange my schedule for me!”

This time, Quark noticed the sarcasm. “I'm sorry. I just … I don't want to die, Garak! And you don't want to leave this station or move into the brig. You won't have to hide what you're doing with the new contract!”

“I did not hid what I'm doing with the present contract. In fact, Professor O'Brien was most helpful with recommendations for Terran plants that can survive the necessary conditions, and she provided me with contacts for a reliable source.”

“I'm talking about the other provision! The one where you kill me.”

Garak said nothing. He looked at Quark with his inquisitor's gaze, and he waited.

“Okay, okay! The one where you provide “additional horticultural services”. If we remove that provision, you won't have to hide anything about the modified contract.”

Garak waited.

“I won't tell Odo or Commander Sisko about the contract,” Quark said solemnly. “I won't tell them about either version. And I won't tell Dr. Bashir,” he added.

Garak kept his expression neutral. “Dr. Bashir?” he repeated. “He is not involved with security.”

“I know that, Garak, but I'm sure you've noticed he has strong opinions.”

That was certainly true. It was also true that the doctor was not at all shy about expressing those opinions, which made for most enjoyable lunchtime conversation.

“How long do you think he'll continue joining you for lunch after he finds out you were willing to assassinate an innocent man?” Quark asked, as if he had read Garak's mind.

“You are hardly innocent, Quark. You hired me!”

“And Dr. Bashir would care about that?”

No. Of course he wouldn't. Garak smiled threateningly. “I suppose you're right,” he said. He withdrew a disruptor from its hidden holster and aimed it directly at Quark.

“What are you doing?!” Quark exclaimed.

“You made a valid point, Quark. You could make my life quite unpleasant. I could spend months, years even, locked in a holding cell with no opportunities for interesting conversation.”

“I know that!” Quark held his place, but he looked delightfully terrified.

“I need to be sure you don't tell anyone about our contract, of course.” Garak bowed. “I do thank you for reminding me of that … detail.”

“No problem. But Garak, you don't need to … I … I promise I won't tell!”

Garak raised his eye ridges, and waited.

He didn't have long to wait.

“What do you want, Garak?”

Just a bit of entertainment, of course, but now that he mentioned it ...

Garak smiled. “It's rather cold on this station, Quark. I'm sure you've noticed. This contract is a good one. It will cover my expenses for several months, if I am … thrifty. Unfortunately, thrift and a comfortable temperature on this station are mutually exclusive.”

“All right! No refund on the original price, and I'll add in a guaranteed two-hour session in a holosuite every week for the next three months. The holosuites can be adjusted to any ambient temperature, humidity, and intensity of lighting, you know. You can be as warm as you want, at no cost to yourself.”

“One two-hour session, Quark? Is that all your life is worth to you?”

“Two! Two two-hour sessions!” Quark offered quickly.

Garak considered waiting to see if Quark offered another session, but thought better of it. Two sessions per week was quite enough. Despite the admittedly appealing potential for warmth, he disliked the holosuites. The difference between the expansive area one could see and the tangible reality of the rather small room was disconcerting, and the harsh, acrid scent of the residual cleaning solution used to sanitize the rooms was quite unpleasant. It was the same solution used on most of the station, but the enclosed space and the lack of other scents to distract exacerbated the effect.

“I will … consider your proposal,” Garak said at last.

“Thank you,” Quark said, offering the Ferengi gesture of supplication.

Garak feigned puzzlement.

“Oh!” Quark lowered his hands and offered a satisfactory approximation of a respectful and appreciative Cardassian bow.

Garak returned the gesture. “You are quite welcome. May I see the revised contract, including the modification fee to which you have so generously agreed?”

“Yes, of course. Give me a moment.” Quark took out a padd from one of the pockets in Rom's tunic.

Garak gestured towards his desk, and Quark took a seat and began inputting the changes.

Finished, Quark offered the padd to Garak.

Garak read over the contract slowly, once again unnecessarily translating it into Kardasi. He was slightly surprised by the accuracy of the Ferengi's changes. Quark had put in no clauses at all to make the contract more favorable to himself! Even the proposed time frame for the provision of the requested garments, though they had not discussed the specifics, was reasonable.

Garak put down the padd and nodded. “This is essentially acceptable,” he said. “However, I do not intend to allow myself to be caught in a situation similar to yours.” He typed in several examples of circumstances that would render the contract moot: death of either party, disability enduring for more than two weeks, and the agreement by both parties to modify or cancel the contract. He did not mention Quark's threat to inform Odo, Sisko, or Doctor Bashir of the previous contract, but he suspected the Ferengi would be discrete. Quark was quite capable of discretion, when it was in his best interest.

Quark held out his hands, and Garak gave him the padd.

Quark re-read the document, lingering over Garak's proposed changes. “This is fine, Garak, except for a couple of minor grammatical corrections. Very, very minor!” he added quickly.

Garak inclined his head. “Of course. I thank you,” he said sincerely. Ferengi was not his strongest language, especially in the written form, and he appreciated Quark's willingness to educate.

Quark looked a bit confused, but he said nothing. He simply typed in the changes and showed them to Garak.

“It is acceptable.”

“Good.” Quark input his thumbprint and gestured to Garak.

Garak took his time. He re-read the final page and pretended to think it over once again. Then he input his thumbprint as well. “My dear Mr. Quark, I am at your service as your hired … tailor,” he said.

Quark picked up the padd and secreted it in its pocket. “Excellent! That is a much more pleasant prospect,” he said.

“I like to think my sartorial skills bring pleasure,” Garak said.

“They do! Especially compared to the alternative.”

“Which alternative?” Garak asked.

“Doesn't matter. I don't want to die, and I can't wait to get out of these clothes and into my own clothes.”

“Ah. Well. You no longer have an outstanding contract on your life. However, I have not yet begun your clothing. Allow me to confirm your measurements, and I will get started momentarily.”

“Of course.”

Garak took out his measuring scanner and took the necessary measurements. “I have what I need,” he announced.

“Good. Then I'll let you get to work.”

Garak inclined his head. “Certainly. My schedule is clear today. I will have one shirt and pair of trousers ready by 14:00 hours tomorrow. I will let you know about the first tunic, but it will be ready no later than the end of the week.”

“Thank you, Garak,” Quark said sincerely.

“You are quite welcome.”

Quark offered a slightly awkward, but sincere, bow. Then he turned and left the shop.

Garak watched him go.

The Ferengi had given him a most diverting task. It was … odd that he had enjoyed playing the role of assassin so much. The role had all of the challenge of an actual assignment, with none of the distasteful elements. No body to dispose of. No authorities to evade. No tracks to cover.

He could do all of those things, of course. He had done so before. He was a good operative. Efficient, dependable, adaptable to a variety of situations. He was a loyal and effective servant of the State. Any day, he could be recalled to duty.

True, the Obsidian Order was gone. Tain was gone. However, that did not negate the occasional need for a skilled intelligence operative. The Detapa Council or the military could offer him an assignment. He was a skilled operative!

He had _not_ lost his taste for the challenges of his sometime work!

He would accept an assignment with no hesitation!

And, after he successfully and skillfully completed his assignment, he could go home. He could be warm again. He could leave this dreadful station behind. Along with lunches with Julian, breakfasts with Odo, the occasional interesting interaction with a customer …

“You are being ridiculously sentimental, Garak,” he said aloud. “Your merit as an operative is not in question. Of course you could serve Cardassia as an operative if you were called to do so, but that is not your role now. You are a Cardassian who keeps his eyes and ears open, but you are also a good tailor. That is your role now.”

Garak stood and walked to the back storeroom to pick out the fabric and other materials he would need.

He brought the supplies back to his worktable.

“Computer, turn off “closed” sign and turn on shop lights, at forty percent,” he said. He reached to turn out the heat lamp, and stayed his hand. He left the lamp on. “Computer, raise temperature by three percent.”

He could not return home, not now, but he could enjoy a little warmth, right here on the station.


End file.
